The Boy of Salt and Stone
by Jemennuie
Summary: Life is more than the sum of your experiences. It is the few experiences that lead to life decisions, that lead to a reshuffling of one's priorities that matter. Some of the experiences that ultimately led to Lucius Malfoy's life decisions. Complete.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

**August 25, 1994**

Lucius Malfoy felt on top of the world.

Screams of terror pervaded the air as he marched through the crowded Quidditch World Cup campsite, a pack of former Death Eaters behind him and people fleeing from his path like the parting of the Red Sea. Fires had erupted without his prompting, and the chaos he—_he_—had instigated was now a wild animal, slithering its way among the nervous stampeding of scared campers and biting at their ankles. A breath in and the slight ashiness of the air was like the taste of Felix Felicis—no, not Felix Felicis. It was power incarnate, a golden elixir that separated him from the Earth itself. For, no, he was not a part of the Earth, he was above it, above everything on it, and for a second in the heady exhilaration Lucius felt as though he was the Dark Lord, superior to all else. As though soon the crowd of Death Eaters would select him to be their new leader, as though soon all of the Wizarding World would not only know the name Lucius Malfoy but know him to be the most powerful, feared wizard in existence.

Yes, he was on top of the world and behind the carefully placed Death Eater mask his face could safely fall into a maniacally joyful grin. Every moment in his life had merely been a stepping stone to now, and now, now nothing could stop him. No one could understand the unstoppable exhilaration that soared through his veins.

"Well, Malfoy, where should we go next?" one of the masked faces panted.

Lucius turned towards the intently listening Death Eaters and thoughtfully ran a lone finger down his wand in contemplation. The very image of a true leader. Perhaps he should insist on being called "Lord Malfoy"—that did have so a ring to it. A moment of exaggerated thought later before a motivational bellow issued from his mouth, sure to stir every man to action from tips of their toes to the ends of their wands: "We go onward!" With a lit wand he pointed away from the forest edge by which they had conglomerated and towards the endless hills of yet-to-be-disturbed campers.

"Onward!" The masked mob reiterated his command, mindlessly turning towards the sites of yet-to-be-wrecked havoc.

Lucius waited until every last one had commenced the destructive march; almost a dozen, more than a dozen men were following him and his every word. Yes, perhaps "Lord Malfoy" would be a fitting title for one in such a position of power—modeled after the Dark Lord himself, of course.

"Onward, Lucius?" a quiet whisper reached his ear, one that was rhetorical and sarcastic, one that knew it did not have to demand attention in order to receive it. Lucius did not even have to turn around to recognize the voice, to know the only person who would refer to him by his first name in such a situation as this.

Lucius exhaled a collecting breath, one which seemed to shake the boughs of the trees themselves before he turned to face the squat wizard behind him. "Hello, Amycus." As soon as the last word left his mouth he bit his lip. Carrow. He should have referred to him as Carrow. Even if the boy—man—standing in front of him would always be Amycus he should have stubbornly denied this by calling him Carrow. "I didn't know you were a Death Eater," Lucius attempted in as conversational a tone as he could manage, gesturing to Amycus's robes and removed mask. "Or are you just now joining for a taste of glory?"

Amycus stepped closer and gave no sign if he had noticed Lucius flinching and taking a step backwards. "Oh, no, I've been a Death Eater for a long while. I was wavering whether to join or not, and then Alecto told me you were one, which sealed the deal."

"Well, as grand as it is catching up with an old Slytherin house-mate, I'm afraid I do have slightly—ah—more important matters to deal with." Lucius used a well-rehearsed disinterested tone before indicating the pack of Death Eaters in the distance.

"Almost two decades and you're still avoiding me?" The slight hurt and disbelief on Amycus's face showed clearly and Lucius silently thanked his mask for concealing his own emotions.

"I really ought to be leaving to fulfill my position as _l_eader, you see." With a melodramatic bellow of his robes, Lucius turned on his heel without a further word.

"Lucius! Answer me this!" Amycus's pleading words pursued the retreating figure. "Do you regret it yet?"

"Regret what?" the blonde-haired man replied, flashing eyes daring Amycus to say a further word.

"You know very well what I mean. Have you started regretting the—the decision you made?"

"Amycus, I'm on top of the world. No, I don't regret my decision." With a final gleeful smirk at his position of power, Lucius turned and left Amycus far behind him.

...

A/N: Following chapters will be longer than this; I just always make prologues a bit on the short side. In case you're wondering, this is going to end up being a short story of approximately ten chapters. I'm going to be jumping around a bit, time-wise, so each section will start with the date. Constructive criticism is always appreciated

Disclaimer for this and all following chapters: I don't own Lucius Malfoy, Amycus Carrow, etc.


	2. Hogsmeade and Bubblehead Charms

_**Hogsmeade and Bubblehead Charms**_

**23 February 1970**

"So what are your doing for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Rabastan, we're sixth years. Haven't Honeydukes and Zonko's started boring you yet?" Lucius rolled his eyes at his friend's question. Besides, it was only Tuesday, and he didn't really feel like starting a conversation this late at night. When he was in the Slytherin dormitories it was because he wanted to sleep, not because he wanted to chit-chat.

"Of course Zonkos's is old, I didn't mean _that_." Now it was Rabastan Lestrange's turn to roll his eyes. "I meant who are you taking as a date?"

Lucius gave an annoyed sighed and buried his head in his pillow. Really, he just wanted to sleep. Couldn't Rabastan shut his trap for once? "You know very well I'm not taking anyone," his muffled response came.

"You need to get over your fear of rejection, mate," he stated matter-of-factly.

The door to the dormitory opened and both Slytherin boys looked up to see Amycus Carrow enter and shuffle towards his bed and trunk. "I've told you before, I'm not afraid of rejection," Lucius exasperatedly continued his conversation with Rabastan. Carrow glanced over his shoulder in their direction at the words, and inwardly Lucius felt a wave of repulsion. Must Carrow eavesdrop on their conversation so blatantly? Carrow was already the outsider of the sixth-year Slytherin boys; he may have been pure of blood, but he was no pureblood. He did not have the wealth, the culture, necessary to be a _pureblood_. He was from the lower classes, and everything he did—from the way he dressed, to the way he carried himself—caused him to be a world, almost a species, apart from all of the pureblood Slytherins.

Rabastan continued without so much as a glance towards the outsider. "You know, my brother heard from Bella herself that Narcisssa Black is interested in you. You should ask her to Hogsmeade."

"Bella?"

"No, you sod. Narcissa."

Lucius rolled over and gave his friend a steady, annoyed glance that was interrupted only by his reflexive glancing at the dormitory door as it opened. Macnair strode into the room and took out a set of nightclothes from his trunk without giving any obvious signs of eavesdropping on Lucius and Rabastan's conversation. "I'm not interested in Narcissa Black," Lucius exasperatedly told his friend. Really, he did want to try and fall asleep soon, and he probably could have slept through the commotion of the opening and closing door if Rabastan wasn't still talking. But he had a feeling Rabastan wasn't going to drop the conversation.

"You'll _become_ interested in her, I promise. I mean, she's a _Black_, you can't do much better in terms of wealth and blood. Besides," he added almost as an afterthought, "If you two end up wedding then we'll brothers, what with Rodolphus married to Bella."

Lucius gave a snort of a laugh. "If that's your motivation, I'm sure there are already plenty of ways in which we're related. And what if I take her to Hogsmeade and I don't start liking her? I don't even know what one does on a date." Out of the corner of his eye he could see Macnair changing into his night clothes. Most boys changed discretely in the washroom, but not Macnair. Then again, it wasn't exactly as though Macnair had anything to be ashamed of. Years of being one of the Slytherin Team's Beaters had given him a lean figure. Not grotesquely bulging with muscles like some sort of obsessive body builder, but a lean, cut, figure, with well-defined biceps and pectorals that looked as though they were chiseled from marble. That was it—he looked like an ancient Greek statue. No, he looked more like a Greek God, with a near-sheen to his handsomely, breath-takingly well-built body.

"Earth to Lucius. Hey, are you listening?"

"Pardon?" Lucius jerked out of his reverie to hear his friend Rabastan speaking.

"Mate, have you really never been on a date?"

"I don't know why you care so much, but no, I haven't," Lucius gave an annoyed sigh.

"Why?" Rabastan disbelievingly uttered. "You're a Malfoy. You could have half of the girls in the school at your feet if you wanted."

He gave a smirk. That was true. He was a Malfoy. Power, blood and money had a way of bringing you a long way in this world. "I promise to you, the second I am interested in a girl I will ask her to Hogsmeade, alright?" He did not even find it necessary to include the adjective "pureblood"; he knew he could never be interested in anyone except a pureblood.

"See, this is your fear or rejection rearing its ugly head again. I refuse to believe that a sixteen year-old boy has never been interested in a girl. Tell you what, ask Narcissa Black to Hogsmeade, and I'll get off your back. I promise you that you'll be happier once you just suck it up and ask a girl out on date."

"Fine. I'll ask her. Now will you let me sleep?"

"Certainly."

Lucius sighed, happy to have the conversation resolved and glanced up from his pillow again. He could practically feel Carrow staring at him. Was Carrow planning on feeding Hogwart's rumor mill? He didn't seem the type, but one never knew with those that hadn't had a proper, respectable upbringing. They could be quite unpredictable.

* * *

**27 February 1971**

Lucius nervously shuffled his feet and twirled the conjured flower between his fingers. If he had to wait much longer for Narcissa, the flower was going to be in shreds before she arrived to receive it. Then again, he had arrived at the front of the castle—their designated meeting place—almost fifteen minutes early. One of the manners his father had instilled in him was to always be early—five minutes early at least, and the earlier the better, and he was sure Narcissa has been similarly instructed growing up. Therefore, he would be left waiting a maximum of ten minutes. Therefore, he had only been waiting less than ten minutes, even it seemed to stretch infinitely longer than that.

Several minutes spent twirling the flower between his fingers later, Narcissa Black finally arrived and graciously accepted the slightly battered flower from Lucius's hands. Lucius, in an attempt to impress her, greeted her with the words, "Narcissa, you look absolutely lovely today. Undoubtedly the object of affection for half of the school population, and an object of envy for the other half."

The corners of Narcissa's mouth turned up into a smile as she thanked him. It struck Lucius that he probably should have checked that she was in at least some state of appearance where such a compliment would be accepted as genuine. He quickly glanced at her: semi-formal robes, high quality of course, and traces of make-up on her face. Yes, she had put specific effort into her appearance; no wonder his compliment had gone over well.

"Mademoiselle?" Lucius offered his arm and together they walked towards Hogsmeade.

* * *

**24 May 1971**

"Considering how lukewarm you were about your first date with Narcissa, you two are quite the couple now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lucius asked Rabastan among the pre-class chatter that filled their Charms classroom.

The chatter soon diminished when Professor Flitwick's tiny voice came from the front of the classroom. "Now class, quiet up! Class? Class, please!" the last sound of chattering finally dissipated, giving him the (mostly) undivided attention of his students. "We're going to start by continuing practicing the bubble-head charms we started last session. And, ah, I want to inject some variety into our practice session, so your new partners are listed up here."

Lucius and Rabastan both scanned the list before exchanging displeased looks. "I'm paired with a _Mudblood_," Rabastan spat, disgust etched into his features. "He's probably going to curse my head off in his attempt to cast the bubblehead charm. Oh, wait, he probably doesn't have enough magic to curse my head off. At least I'll be safe, I suppose, just tethered to a woefully inadequate partner."

"Next to that, me being paired with Carrow seems downright pleasant," Lucius replied, his eyes fixed on the line that read Malfoy/Carrow.

"Let's at least sit next to each other," he grumbled, elbowing his way through the small crowd of students gathered around the partner list. "Our partners can find us."

"So what did you mean?" Lucius questioned, still wary and annoyed by Rabastan's previous comment.

Rabastan blinked. "Sit. Next. To. Each. Other. You see how you're at the desk next to mine? That's generally referred to as 'sitting next to each other.' People do it with their friends. Or, in the soon-to-be case, with their Mudbloods of partners."

"Not that," Lucius rolled his eyes. Had his friend already forgotten what they were previously talking about? "Why are you surprised that Narcissa and I are a couple? You didn't think that I would be able to keep a Black?"

Rabastan gave him a 'you've-got-to-be-kidding-me' look. "Lucius, I never doubted you'd be able to keep Black. You have the three requirements for a perfect relationship with her: the upbringing, the blood and the money. I just meant that I find it amusing that you and her are inseparable now when I remember when you came back from your first date. Said you didn't understand what the big fuss about dating was," he gave a laugh as though this was the most ridiculous idea he had heard in a long time.

His ego assuaged, Lucius felt the corners of his mouth turn up into a small grin. Upbringing, blood, and money. Yes, he and Narcissa had all three of those. "Well, Narcissa's very affectionate," Lucius replied in a disinterested, dismissive sort of way, as though that was a sufficient response. Yes, he remembered telling Rabastan he didn't understand how obsessed people were with dating. Had thought but not spoken aloud that he didn't understand the obsession with kissing, either. It had been—was still nothing more than skin on skin, and he didn't understand why people would write poems about such a thing, obsess about how to obtain them, and even go the extent of imbibing alcohol in order to increase their probability of receiving one. It wouldn't have been proper for him to tell anyone this, though, not even his friend. He vaguely wondered if everyone felt this way. Really, what was all of the fuss about?

"Malfoy, as lovely as it is hearing about your _girl_friend, I'm here to practice charms, not be updated on the ongoings of Hogwarts' social network," Carrow sniffled in a whiny sort of way.

Lucius's brow creased with a flash of annoyance at Carrow's impudence before he heard Rabastan loudly complain, "Did my Mudblood get lost on the way to our seats? Bloody hell, he must know what I look like. How could he not know who I am? I'm a _Lestrange_." Maybe having Carrow as his partner wasn't so bad after all; after all, at least he was pure of blood.

"As you wish, Carrow. If you would grant me the honor of starting," Lucius gave a silky smile. An inadequate bubble charm could unintentionally deplete the air surrounding the person's head, and he would much rather be on the dealing than the receiving end of that. "_Bulle dair_," he lazily waved his wand.

Lucius's eyes flitted about the features of Carrow's face, checking for any sign of a shortage of air. It struck him that he had never really looked at Carrow; he had automatically assumed Carrow would have troll-like features, as though one's appearance was directly correlated to one's net worth. Most likely he would not be the school heart-throb any time soon, but his defined cheekbones, the liquid pools of ebony that were his eyes and his tossled dark hair all made him have a certain aura of attractiveness about him.

Wait, attractive?

No. Not attractive. Men could not be attractive. Narcissa. Yes, Narcissa was attractive.

Besides, even if Carrow had an—er—well, not poorly constructed face (yes, that was a sufficiently neutral way to describe the boy sitting across from him) he certainly could not be considered attractive with the rather squat figure he cut. No, he wasn't like, say, Macnair at all. Macnair the near Greek-God with his well defined Beater muscles. He vaguely wondered if Macnair ever took his shirt off during Quidditch practices.

Er. No. Not wondering. He was not wondering that at all. What was he supposed to be thinking about? Ah, yes, Carrow. No, not Carrow. Charms. The charm he had cast on Carrow! That was it. Carrow was not obviously turning red (or purple) yet, nor had he made any gestured death threats to Lucius, so it would seem that he still had enough air to breath. A moment later Carrow's dark eyes narrowed and the corners of his pinkish lips tensed slightly, so with a second gesture of his wand, Lucius wordlessly removed the bubblehead charm. "Well?" he drawled, as though he could not care less what Carrow thought of his charm.

"A bit more air near the end would have been nice," Carrow stated, slightly pursing his lips from annoyance. Without waiting for a reply, or an invitation to continue, Lucius saw his view of the world become slightly distorted by the presence of a bubble surrounding his head and felt the air surrounding his head be replaced by a stale-tasting version. Now it was Carrow who scrutinized Lucius's face, his dark eyes hesitating on Lucius's icy blue ones before lingering on the other details of the Malfoy's face. Air. Undoubtedly Carrow was analyzing if Lucius had enough air.

…

A/N: So when drafting this story it occurred to me that I could develop all of the events and characters more gradually and turn into a longer story. Buuut, seeing as I just finished a 100,000 word story (under my other account), I kind of feel like writing something relatively short. In other words, expect this story is going to move quickly. Another quick note: this falls under tat1312's Rare Pairings challenge on the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum.


	3. Charms Drama

**Charms Drama**

**24 May 1971**

Lucius sat one of the plush green couches adorning the Slytherin common room, holding his potions book with one hand, his other hand absent-mindedly intertwined with Narcissa's while she adoringly nuzzled her head against his shoulder.

"I still can't believe Flitwick gave me detention!" Rabastan Lestrange exploded into common room through the seemingly innocuous dungeon wall. The few heads left studying at this time of night simultaneously glanced up at the intrusion before bowing their heads back to their textbooks, problem sets and essays.

"What happened to cause that?" Narcissa innocently asked as he sat down across from her boyfriend.

"We were assigned partners in charms today," Rabastan wrinkled his nose, as though that was explanation enough.

"And?"

"My Mudblood partner didn't appreciate the advice I gave him on how to cast a bubblehead charm. As though a Mudblood wouldn't have something about to learn from a pureblood! Absolutely no respect, no idea where his proper place is. So, the next time he waved his wand, a piece of parchment popped out the tip that said 'Please, let me belong to an actual wizard, and not to a Mudblood!' Well, Flitwick didn't seem to find it as hilarious as the rest of the class did. And, just to top it off, I could have received detention again for walking back to the common room after curfew!"

"After curfew?" Narcissa glanced around for a clock. "What time is it?"

"Around eleven forty-five."

"Oh, I should probably get some sleep before classes tomorrow morning. Good night, Lucius." With a peck on the cheek, Narcissa gathered her homework and departed for the girls' quarters. Over the course of the next hour, the rest of the common room gradually emptied until the only sound was the scratching of Lucius quill on the parchment titled "Potions Essay." He loved the common room at this time of night. Without the normal mass of students inhabiting it the character of the room seeped into the atmosphere—the ancient, regal atmosphere, the slight nip to the air, the smell of the wall's stones and the smell of the salt that leaked from the lake into the stones; it was all very peaceful.

At the sound of footsteps, Lucius disinterestedly glanced up to see who was entering the common room at this time of night, and saw Carrow walking from the direction of the boys' dormitories. Was he—Merlin, he was still in his night clothes! No shoes, a long-sleeved shirt with a few worn holes around the wrist and long-pants with a tattered hemline. No outer robe. No coat. Did he have no sense of propriety? Lucius would have never admitted to owning clothes in that state of disrepair, much less wear them in public, and much much less if they were pajamas! Carrow, seemingly oblivious to his blatant disregard for social conventions, plopped down on a chair adjacent to the couch Lucius was seated on. Lucius regarded him out of the corner of his eye, wondering why the other boy had chosen to sit that close when every other seat in the common room was empty.

When Carrow said and did nothing Lucius disinterestedly drawled, "Carrow, I'm not interested in practicing bubble-head charms right now. State your business or leave me in peace to write my potions essay."

He smirked in return. No, the single word smirk could not describe it. It was a slanted grin, mischievous, knowing, powerful, one that twisted his face into an even more handsome conformation than before. "I know something about you," Carrow simply stated. Lucius frowned slightly and cautiously waited for an elaboration, unsure what he was referencing. Still grinning like the Chesire Cat, Carrow reiterated, "I couldn't mention it in class, but, yes, I know something about you, Lucius."

Lucius's frown deepened. "That's Malfoy to you."

"No, no, I think I can call you Lucius. You see, I understand you better than anyone else ever will. Lestrange, Black, they will never understand you as much as I already do." Each word was carefully, lightly, confidently articulated.

"That's a high claim, Carrow," he menacingly growled.

Obviously unthreatened by Lucius's tone of voice, he stood up and took a seat on the couch uncomfortably close to the blond boy. Lucius could practically feel Carrow's breath on his neck, feel the way Carrow's dark eyes burned into his own, and only his curiosity combined with his internalized sense of politeness kept him from squirming away. "See, I know that—" and if possible those ebony eyes were now even closer, and he could now feel Carrow's breath on his face and he felt something warm and soft against his lips—not skin on skin he knew, but lips on lips and when Carrow withdrew, that devilishly handsome grin unmovingly plastered on his face, Lucius could still feel the ghost of Carrow's lips against his, a tingling sensation in them that he had not once experienced with Narcissa.

"See, I knew that you wouldn't move away. And I knew you wouldn't be angry afterwards," Carrow breathed, his face still close to Lucius's, the light blue eyes and the ebony eyes locked onto each other. "Because _I know what you are_."

Without a further word, Carrow turned back to the Slytherin dormitories, leaving Lucius to stare at the bare-footed boy's retreating footsteps, unsure what exactly had just happened, and more importantly, unsure why he hadn't minded it in the least.

* * *

**25 May 1971**

"Lucius, what was that?"

"What was what?" he innocently replied, all the meanwhile desperately avoiding Rabastan's eyes.

"You just ditched me in charms! Hey, slow down." The two boys were weaving their way through the crowd that fed directly into the Great Hall for lunch, and Rabastan grabbed his friends shoulder to prevent their separating. "Flitwick said we could pick our own partners again, and you ditch me! What the hell? For Carrow, no less. I had to team up with a Hufflepuff. She could have accidentally blown my nose off!"

"But she didn't, so what's the big deal?

"What's the big deal? Lucius! Why the hell did you ditch me for Carrow?" Rabastan held Lucius's arm to keep him from further swerving through the crowd and to force his friend to face him.

"Alright, you want to know the truth?" Lucius stalled, his mind desperately searching for the "truth."

"No, I want you to lie to me," he sarcastically iterated as the members of the crowd jostled them left and right.

With his mind racing, and his eyes flickering every which way like those of a caged animal, Lucius started, "Carrow cornered me last night. Asked me to be his charms partner again since we had, quote, worked together so well last time. I implied that I thought I already had a partner (you, of course), but he was completely oblivious. I couldn't figure out any other properly polite way to reject him, so I relented."

Lucius warily scanned his friend's motionless face. Had he bought the explanation? And then—a ray of light, a crack in his frozen expression. A laugh. And a another laugh, and then Rabastan had swung his arm around Lucius's shoulder as they continued walking towards the Great Hall. "Oh, so that's what was eating you. I can't believe Carrow would be rude! Has he no sense of social conventions? Then again, what can you expect from someone of his upbringing, right?"

"Ha, yes, exactly," he feebly replied, greatly calmed by his friend's reaction.

"Well, next time he does that, tell him to bugger off or I'll hex him into next week for stealing my partner. I mean, really, that Hufflepuff could have hexed off my nose," Rabastan replied, delicately running a finger down the perfectly straight bridge of his nose.

With a slight grin from Lucius, the two Slytherin boys took their seat and started ravenously filling their silver plates with the House-elf prepared food. "Mate, you've got to try a slice of this pie," Rabastan chewed. Or, rather, it sounded more like "Maghb, you'bg go' 'o 'ry a slice of this pie," as Rabastan had only finished chewing for the second half of the sentence.

"You know, just because the house elves put out deserts for both lunch and dinner doesn't mean you have to consume pie at both meals."

"Yes, _mum_," Rabastan rolled his eyes. "After this I'll eat my vegetables, happy?"

Lucius didn't reply though, for he had just noticed a certain dark-haired boy at the other end of the Slytherin table. Just the sight of Carrow was enough to make him smell the salt and stone of the common room, to feel the slightest ghost of pressure against his lips. His explanation to Rabastan had been complete fantasy, of course. It did not matter that they were friends; Lucius did not even consider it a possibility to reveal what had actually happened in the common room last night. He could not think of a single worse way to violate proper social conventions than being kissed by a boy, and as far as he was concerned, it was the type of reputation-ruining secret that was worth carrying with him to the grave.

He was not exactly sure why he had asked, demanded, that Carrow be his partner in Charms. He had only known that every other potential arrangement seemed detestable to him, and that he had practically sprinted across the small Charms classroom to ensure that they were partners. A single raised eyebrow had been the boy's only response to Lucius's rather odd behavior and he had furthermore spent the entirety of the lesson referring to him as "Malfoy"—no acknowledgement, however subtle, of last night.

However well Carrow may have claimed to understand Lucius, Lucius could put in no reciprocal claim. That would be something to work on. Learn what makes Carrow tick.

And then—a burst of jubilation. Yes, that was why he had not protested the kiss. He wanted to learn what made Carrow tick. How the mind of such an odd species as Carrow worked.

His lack of protest had nothing to do with the fact that there might have been a small, tiny, miniscule—no, nonexistent—portion of him, that might have just enjoyed the kiss.

Yes, nonexistent. For such behavior was not befitting of a Malfoy.


	4. Evening MeetUps

**Evening Meet-Ups**

**29 May 1971**

Lucius was glad that his father was not around to see his horrid study habits of the past few days. "Don't do something later if you can do it now." "No time like the present to accomplish something." At first appearance it seemed that those sayings disagreed horribly with Lucius's staying up until 2 AM every night and then dozing off during classes. It wasn't that he was procrastinating on his homework, per se, as much as he needed a reason to stay awake, and forgotten or incomplete assignments were the least suspicious way to consistently stay awake long past the normal bedtime.

His carefully thought out plan did not reap its intended reward until the fourth night after its installation, though, when the quiet sound of bare feet padding down a hallway and into the Slytherin common room greeted his ears. It was Carrow, he was sure. Only Carrow would have the impropriety to walk around bare-footed.

Without a word, the Slytherin boy took a seat opposite from the blond-haired boy. Lucius dared a glance in Carrow's direction who was reading some textbook or other that was splayed open on his lap. A cringe of annoyance appeared on Lucius's face. No greeting? No word to him? What on earth were Carrow's intentions, then, coming down to the Common Room at this time of night? Surely his sole reason was not to read his textbook at 1 AM while still in his nightclothes?

After all, Lucius was also reading his textbook, and that was certainly not the complete explanation for why he was in the Common Room at 1 AM. The complete explanation continued to elude even himself, but he had no qualms about that; he only felt a slight sense of satisfaction that Carrow had finally appeared.

Still, was Carrow not to say anything? Or do anything? Another glance. No, Carrow seemed comfortably seated, his bare feet now propped against the coffee table between the two couches.

Damn it, Lucius had not sleep-deprived himself for four consecutive nights in a row for—for nothing! He abruptly stood up, crossed to Carrow's location and sat directly next to him. Carrow gave him a leisurely glance out of the corner of his eye. Lucius opened his mouth, expecting to say something, when it suddenly struck him he had not planned this far ahead.

"Evenin', Lucius," Carrow finally greeted him, that smirk, that mischievous, devilish slant of a grin splitting his face.

"Technically it's morning," Lucius pointedly spoke the first words that came to his mind.

"So it is." At this point, the boy had abandoned all pretense of reading his textbook, and hd instead turned towards the blond-haired Slytherin. "How's your _girl_friend?"

"Narcissa's doing well. Affectionate as always," he curtly replied, the taunt of 'At least _I'm_ normal,' implied in his tone of voice. "How's yours?"

The dark-haired boy's answer was spoken in a similarly taunting tone, "_I_ don't have a girlfriend."

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Lucius lashed out, frustrated by the failure of his taunt. Carrow seemed unperturbed by the second attempt at a would-be insult; if anything, his grin grew slightly wider. An abrupt idea occurred to Lucius and without hesitation he dove into a new subject with a carefully crafted skeptical, disinterested tone, "A few days ago, you said you 'knew what I was.' Pray tell, under your poorly-formed understanding of my human being, what am I?"

The response came confidently, almost suavely, if it was possible for someone like Carrow to be suave. "You're the type of boy that you didn't mind when I kissed you. You're like me, and that's not a poorly-formed idea, that's a fact."

Him? Similar in any way to someone with an upbringing like Carrow? "I'm not like you, Carrow. And that's also a fact."

The confident, knowing grin remained immovably plastered on the other boy's face, accompanied by a slight shake of the head. "Carrow? Always so stiffly formal, Lucius, tsk tsk."

The comeback rolled easily off of his tongue. "At least I have manners."

A pause on Lucius's part. A slight frown, a slight fading of the grin on Carrow's part. A reciprocal frown on Lucius's part.

"Er—Amycus."

"What?"

"I said: at least I have manners, Amycus." A new grin on Carrow's—Amycus's part, sly and pleased and secretive at understanding the inside joke, and now Amycus had inched slightly closer and, after a moment's hesitation, placed a light kiss on Lucius's temple. His smile took on a knowing air and extended all the way to the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes, extended so far that it reached all the way to Lucius's face, so that he felt the corners of his lips turning up quite against their will. How could you see such a handsome specimen of smile and not grin?

* * *

**20 June 1971**

"You look awful, Lucius."

"You say the nicest things, Rabastan."

"No, really, I mean it."

"As do I," Lucius rolled his eyes. His friend was currently sitting adjacent to the high-backed chair Lucius was occupying in the Slytherin common room; surrounding them was the general chatter and bustling of all of the other Slytherins who had also decided that occupying the Common Room in the evening was a splendid idea.

"Have you even been sleeping? And don't lie and say you have, because the dark circles underneath your eyes will testify against you." Lucius snapped his mouth shut. He had been about to say just that. "And every once in a while, you'll just break into a maniacal grin for no apparent reason, and whenever I ask why, you say it's nothing. I swear, the sleep deprivation must be driving you towards the brink of insanity."

"It _is_ nothing," he smoothly lied. "And I've just had a lot of work the past few weeks. Once we get through finals I'll be able to relax again."

"Geez, turning into a Ravenclaw, are we? 'I can't sleep, I have to work.'" Lucius had to stifle a laugh at how far from the truth Rabastan was. If anything, he had been completing _less_ work than normal; it would seem that staying up into the late hours of the night waiting for the sound of Amycus's feet was not the best for one's studying or sleeping habits.

Contrary to Rabastan's belief, though, it was not taking a toll on Lucius's sanity—or, if it was, then such a loss of sanity was perfectly okay, desired, even. Each and every day seemed to be a long, slow trudge towards the evening when he could finally see Amycus again; just the thought was enough for his joy to spill over in the form of an unstoppable, endlessly elated grin, one which always earned a confused, wondering look from Rabastan. Lucius had never felt such elation before, and if this was incompatible with sanity, he wanted nothing to do with sanity. He was on top of the world and nothing, nothing, felt more important than the invincible, timeless bond he had with Amycus. Whoever had said that all things will eventually fade with time had never seen the strength of his love for Amycus, stronger than any stone statue that Ozymandias could have ever built.

"Speaking of work, it's almost eleven at night. I should start my Prefect rounds," Lucius drawled, vacating his seat and passing into the dungeon corridors directly outside of the common room.

He had barely turned the corner when he heard the echoing, familiar sound of rumbling stones, indicating that the door to the Slytherin common room had just been opened. A slight line creased his forehead. Who would be idiotic enough to violate curfew so blatantly? The answer wasn't long for waiting, as the squat figure of Amycus Carrow shortly turned the corner. As he headed straight for Lucius, his face broke into an inconspicuous, hidden smile, the corner of his lips slightly pulled up to reveal a sliver of his white teeth.

Almost as though he was a marionette, his strings controlled solely at Amycus's whim, the corners of Lucius's lips turned up in an exact replica of Amycus's smile.

"Evenin', Lucius."

Lucius stepped a bit closer and, with a nervous glance down the hallway, murmured, "What are you doing here, Amycus?" Despite their meeting almost daily in the Common Room, the Malfoy had still publically kept his distance from the other Slytherin boy.

Amycus's grin took on a confident, stubborn, plotting air. "Thought I'd go for a evening stroll. What a coincidence seeing you here, Lucius."

" 'An evening stroll'? It's past curfew."

"Exactly. And I heard you complaining just yesterday about how horrendously _boring_ your prefect patrols are because there's never anyone out and about. So. You can't exactly say that having a fellow Slytherin along would distract you from your duties." Lucius cast another hesitating glance up and down the silent, cold stone hallway. "We won't get in trouble, 'cause no one'll see us," he continued in an almost sing-song tone.

"Alright, fine," the prefect grudgingly snapped, unable to remain in a sour mood for more than a few seconds at seeing Amycus's grin spread even wider.

"So how d'you like the potion's essay Slughorn assigned?" Despite the perfectly conversational tone, his grin expressed the teasing inherent in his question.

"That wretched excuse for—for a legitimate, reasonable assignment?" Lucius's face darkened before he attempted a joking tone, "If I had known that was going to be your first topic of conversation I would have said you couldn't accompany me."

"Now, now, no need for that. I was just wondering if you had progressed since your—ah—little outburst last night."

"Outburst? What outburst?" Lucius continued in a sarcastic teasing voice, one for which he had precious little use with the more 'cultured' crowd, but one which he had found to quite enjoy using. "I only ripped my draft in half."

"I would have said multiple pieces."

"Fine, maybe I tore it into multiple pieces."

"And then you set it on fire."

"Fine, maybe I set it on fire, too. I was being thorough."

"I've no doubt." Amycus gave a small laugh, one that only made his grin seem to practically sparkle.

"Being in the Slug Club, and the fact that my father knows Professor Slughorn, means that I have to be absolutely perfect in that bloody course," Lucius gave an aggravated sigh. Grossly violating social conventions with such a lack of emotional restraint would have been mortifyingly embarrassing in front of anyone except Amycus, who seemed to be unaware what those social conventions were in the first place. "I mean, I'm sure your father would be also displeased if you received unsatisfactory marks on a potions essay, but it's not quite the same."

The beautiful specimen of a smile inhabiting Amycus's face faded a bit. "I suppose. I wouldn't know. I kinda doubt it, actually."

"Er—does your father not believe in the importance of succeeding in the educational system?" Lucius awkwardly ventured, silently thinking that considering the Carrows' social class, that was not particularly surprising.

The Carrow boy shrugged. "I don't know my father. I don't care. I don't want to meet him. My step-father isn't particularly big on academics, though. Good thing, or he would've gone berserk when he saw some of my OWLs." The last part was added in an undertone, almost as an aside, and Lucius couldn't help but think how terribly annoying, and yet how terribly endearing it was that Amycus was so open to him.

"What, uh, happened to him? Your father, I mean," Lucius blurt out, his curiosity getting the better of him. He had never being acquainted with someone from such an abnormal family situation, for anything but the idyllic husband, wife and heir was considered socially unacceptable in the upper tiers of pureblood culture. Two seconds later, though, his sense of properness defeated his sense of curiosity for control, and he wished that he could time travel back the two seconds necessary to prevent uttering those words; he was sure that such a question would violate even Amycus's idea of proper social interactions.

Surprisingly, after a slight dropping of the face and a slight crease of the forehead, Amycus opened his mouth and answered the question, "I don't know. I just know his last name was Carrow and he was a pureblood—" (Lucius mentally corrected him: 'pure of blood.' 'Pureblood' implied a certain social standing that he was sure any Carrow lacked.) "He disappeared when I was about three—which would have been right around the time Alecto was born. I don't if he died or if he just up and left. But, well, I mean, I don't really care." Amycus's tone lightened with the last sentence, and a semblance of his former grin reappeared on his face as he looked at Lucius.

Lucius was so focused on absorbing, memorizing every little detail about Amycus's grin that he didn't notice the other set of footsteps walking down the hallway until a bellowing voice accompanied them. "My dear Lucius! What a pleasure to run into my star prefect performing his duties."

If not for his years of social training, Lucius was sure his eyes would have just about popped out of his head at suddenly being addressed by Professor Slughorn. Amycus's earlier reassurance that nobody would see them suddenly seemed naïve beyond words.

"And—Mr.—er—Mr. Carrow! Yes, I remember a Miss Carrow blowing up a cauldron in my class last week. Really cannot be too careful about adding the Grindylow scales slowly enough," Slughorn shook his head as though doing so would remove the tangent from their conversation. "Anyways. Lucius, did you catch Carrow here violating curfew?"

Lucius nearly gaped, unsure what to say. Amycus would undoubtedly receive punishment if Slughorn believed that Lucius had found him violating curfew. On the other hand, it would reflect poorly on Lucius's record if he was found willfully helping another student disobey school rules, and his father would certainly hear about it.

In the time Lucius spent hesitating, it seemed that the other boy had taken it upon himself to answer. "Actually, not quite, Professor Slughorn. You see—"

"YesIfoundhimviolatingcurfew," Lucius quickly blurt out, earning a proud look from the professor, and a shocked one from Amycus.

"Ah, excellent job performing your prefect duties," Slughorn beamed at the blond-haired boy, before turning towards the dark-haired boy with a severe expression on his face. "Carrow, I am quite disappointed to find a member of my house breaking the school rules in such a blatant, intentional, and disrespectful manner. Ah—Lucius? You can continue patrolling. I'll finish handing out the punishment."

"Uh, yes, professor." Without another glance at the betrayed look on Amycus's face, Lucius hastily turned around and continued walking.

...

A/N: I think I'm going to raise the rating to teen, because I've been planning out some of the later chapters and there's going to eventually be minor violence. (Also, psst. reviews are greatly appreciated!)


	5. Detention and Quaffles

**Detention and Quaffles**

**21 June 1971**

"So next thing I know McGonagall's hat is suddenly a pink flamingo—and not just any pink flamingo, but one that, for whatever reason, has fur instead of feathers. And then—get this, the flamingo jumps out the open window and tries to fly!"

Lucius gave Rabastan an appropriately amused look at the former's story, despite barely paying attention. He found that today he wanted to use the walk from the dungeons up to dinner to concentrate on other matters, specifically on the fact that he had not seen Amycus since the prefect-Slughorn incident. Transfiguration mishaps seemed uninteresting and unimportant by comparison. "So, the moral of the story," Lucius heard Rabastan continue, "Is that Mudbloods shouldn't be allowed to take NEWT level transfiguration. That, or you should have signed up for the class, because it was absolutely hilarious."

"Ah. I see," he disinterestedly replied, for they had just reached the Great Hall, and now his attention was solely fixed on the Slytherin table or, more precisely, on scanning the Slytherin table for a certain dark-haired boy who had managed to avoid him for the entirety of the day. When his eyes actually found the boy, Lucius let out a small gasp of surprise and his mind immediately began racing as to what he could do or say, especially in such a public place.

"Do you want to sit, uh, not in our normal spot? Just to, uh, change things up?" Lucius nervously ventured to Rabastan.

A slightly wondering crease appeared across his friend's forehead before he shrugged. "Sure. We can sit here," he dispassionately gestured towards the nearest section of the table.

"I was thinking a bit further down the table."

"Ookay…how about here?"

"How about a bit further down? Why don't we sit around the middle section of the table?" At Lucius's prompting the two boys finally took a seat, while Lucius attempted to pretend that it was a complete and utter coincidence he was seated directly next to Amycus.

With little success he valiantly tried to combine an apologetic and a nonchalant tone, "Good evening, Carrow."

The other boy regarded him out of the corner of his eye. "Sod off, Malfoy."

Not quite the way Lucius had intended the conversation to go. What he _had _intended to happen he wasn't entirely sure, but he knew that wasn't it. Take two. "Er—how do you do, Carrow?"

"I _said_, sod off, Malfoy." The clearly annoyed boy abruptly stood up and, without another word, turned to leave the Great Hall.

"No, damn it," Lucius muttered under his breath, before also leaping up from his seat. "Amycus, wait!" The dark-haired boy did a perfect job of pretending that he had heard absolutely nothing and, if anything, quickened his stride. They had both just exited into another hallway when Lucius finally caught up enough to grab the other's shoulder and force him to stop. After casting a quick glance around to be sure no one was within earshot he near-whispered, "Amycus, I'm sorry about last night."

"Sorry isn't good enough. Slughorn gave me detention, you know." He gave an annoyed, impatient look before adding, "And you lost points for Slytherin." Lucius felt an uncomfortable, squirming feeling in the pit of his stomach. Had he really caused Slytherin to lose points? Amycus's previously annoyed voice took on an almost sadistic, mocking timber as he continued. "So, as I was saying earlier Lucius, or—oh, sorry, are you friends nearby? Should I call you Malfoy? Because it's perfectly clear that you won't even admit that we're on a first-name basis, much less anything else! So, as I was saying, sod off, Lucius!" He spun around and continued walking down the hallway, leaving Lucius to dejectedly trudge back to the dinner table alone.

"What was that about, mate?" Rabastan fixed his friend with a questioning look while keeping the other half of his attention focused on the slice of pie he was eating.

"I caught Carrow breaking curfew last night and now he's mad at me, quite unreasonably, I might add," Lucius said, attempting to ignore the stirring feelings of guilt at such a lie.

"And that puts you on a first-name basis…?"

"Er—Carrow's just improper like that. Doesn't understand the point of manners or formality, so he just prefers going by first names. Can you imagine?" he gave a feeble laugh, attempting to squash his feelings of guilt at yet another lie.

"Can I imagine what? And why are we seated on this side of the table?" Narcissa innocently asked, lovingly clasping Lucius's hand with her own by way of greeting before taking a seat next to him.

Rabastan laughed. "Carrow's being—well, Carrow, for lack of a better word."

"At least he's not a Mudblood," Lucius blurt out the least objectionable defense that had leapt to his mind.

"That's true. At least he deserves to be at Hogwarts. Unlike, say, some people," and here Rabastan glared at a specific Hufflepuff and muttered something that sounded like "furry pink flamingos" under his breath.

* * *

**22 June 1971**

Lucius stood, hesitating, in front of the library's engraved wooden doors. His feet had led him here, after asking Slughorn where Amycus would be serving his detention. How he was going to make this different from their encounter yesterday, he still wasn't quite sure, but he strode through the double doors anyway.

Admittedly, though, he had been hoping to receive something other than "Sod off, Lucius," as a greeting upon entering the library.

"Why are you still mad at me?" Lucius snapped, his annoyance mounting at what he could already see was going to be a failed reconciliation.

"Why am I mad at you? Why am I mad at you!?" Amycus angrily set down the pile of books he had been reshelving. "You _backstabbed_ me, you coward."

"I—I did no such thing! You're the one who insisted on walking with me!"

"Under the assumption that you weren't going to lie and say that you had found me breaking curfew," he hissed, haphazardly continuing to shelve books.

"It wasn't a lie, you were violating curfew," Lucius stonily reminded him.

"Whatever. Whatever, Lucius."

"Well, you lied to me when you said that Slughorn had deducted points from Slytherin! I walked by the counters on the way to the library, and Slytherin was at exactly the same point total as the day previous."

"Maybe I said that 'cause I knew it'd be the only way to get through the thick skull of someone as self-centered as you."

Lucius gaped. "I am—I am no such thing."

"All you care about is what others think of you. And that—" here Amycus turned towards Lucius again, his dark eyes venomous, his face stony and serious and rejected while Lucius silently thought to himself how much he missed Amycus's grins, and how he would plead with the gods themselves if they would allow him to see just one more grin directed towards him. "That is why you are too ashamed to associate with me. You're ashamed of me."

"You're right," Lucius spoke, his voice softer than a whisper. Amycus seemed almost at a loss as what to do, as though he had not expected the other boy to admit such a thing so quickly. Eyes downward in an almost humbled facial expression, the blond-haired boy timidly ventured, "I don't want to be though. Do you—do you want to start eating together at meal times? Publically? I'll just tell everyone that we've been becoming friends of late, that's all."

"And you'll acknowledge me when you see me in the common room, instead of treating me like thin air?"

"I'll acknowledge you in the common room, too, and maybe we can see each over the summer holidays, too, since they are coming up and all."

The cold look on Amycus's face started melting away, the stony exterior being broken away, piece by piece, by the emerging radiant grin. "That'd be nice."

* * *

**1 July 1971**

Spinning through the ashy green flames, Lucius wasn't quite sure what to expect when he stepped out of the Floo network into the Carrow's house. He was almost expecting a mud hut, or a hole in the ground. Instead the first sight to greet his eyes (once the room was finally in focus) was a living room sparsely decorated with a few worn chairs.

"So you're Lucius Malfoy," a girl's voice greeted him. He glanced first towards the open doorway for the source of the voice before realizing that the source was significantly closer. Namely, she was standing directly in front of him, and he had accidentally managed to look completely over her head. He looked down at the diminutive girl as she continued talking. "Hm, I've never seen you up close, before," her dark eyes seemed to be scrutinizing his face. "Narcissa Black's very lucky to have you." Lucius idly thought that Amycus was much luckier than Narcissa.

"Alecto! Stop being creepy," Amycus barked as he strolled into the room. The petite girl whipped her head around and shot him a death glare the way only a thirteen year-old can. "Scram, pipsqueak."

"I don't see why I can't be friends with your friends, too, Amycus," she pouted, surveying Lucius out of the corner of his eye.

"Because you just can't. Now, scram." With a huffy, annoyed sigh, she left the room and slammed the door behind her.

"Charming sister of yours. Only augments my displeasure at being an only child," Lucius sarcastically smirked.

"Ah, she's not normally that bad," he reassuringly grinned. "Hey, want to throw a quaffle around?" After going through a small dining room, they were outside in the warm summer weather, a slight breeze stirring the air.

"Have you been reading the Daily Prophet?" Lucius asked, wishing they could have used magic to make the game of catch a bit more interesting, while mentally wondering if it was 18 or 19 days until his seventeenth birthday.

"Vaguely."

"How does one vaguely read the Daily Prophet?"

"Okay, I see the front page every day, but I don't exactly read it cover to cover."

"Then you probably haven't seen the articles," he said confidently, almost smugly. "A disappearance here, an unsolved murder case there, a line about a hexed Muggle in the back of the paper. Those sort of things."

"Yeah, so? Crime's existed for a long time, I'm surprised you're just noticing it now," Amycus gave him a jokingly mocking grin.

Lucius adopted a conspiratorial tone. "But that's just it. It's not your average sort of crime. I think it's debatable whether it even qualifies as crime."

Amycus caught the quaffle and turned it over in his hands before throwing it back, a questioning look on his face. "What d'you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he teased, his eyes sparkling, glued to Amycus's. "There's a new order rising."

A suspicious look. "What sort of order?"

"One based on blood, on equality. It's simple, if one is pure of blood one then on is worthy. If not, then not."

"How is that new? Everyone already agrees that Mudbloods are at the bottom of the food chain."

"But it's more than that. Do you not understand? If one is _pure of blood_ one is worthy. It doesn't matter what your social class is. It doesn't matter who your parents are, as long as they were pure of blood. Now everyone who is pure of blood is a _pureblood_."

An enlightened, fascinated, mischievous, scheming grin spread in a diagonal slash across Amycus's face. "I like the sound of that. Tell me about those who aren't worthy."

"The half-bloods and Mudbloods?" Lucius returned the conspiratorial, scheming grin. "Well, of course, the movement is going to have to start with the Mudbloods, and let's just say that things happen to those who aren't worthy. The sorts of things that the newspaper has been reporting."

"They're animal-like, aren't they?" Amycus blurt out. "The half-bloods and Mudbloods. Dense. Cruel. They lack that spark of humanity, they don't realize their proper place in relation to us purebloods."

For once Lucius didn't mind Amycus using the term "pureblood" self-referentially; under the New Order he _was_ a pureblood. "I would agree with that. The half-bloods and Mudbloods are certainly too thick to realize what's happening, the New Order that is rising."

"I like the sound of that," Amycus darkly murmured, before uttering in a much lighter tone, "Hey, I'm gonna go get a cup of water; it's a bit warm out here. Wanna come with?"

Lucius dropped the Quaffle before walking towards the kitchen with his friend. Amycus was so noisy in grabbing two cups from the plain wood cupboards that Lucius jumped to realize there was someone else in the room with them. A middle-aged woman who looked as though she would have fit in well with Hogwarts' ghosts sat at one of the counters, staring vacantly into space.

"Oh, er, don't mind my mum," Amycus spoke, handing Lucius a cup of water. "She's kinda quiet." Lucius vaguely wondered what the Carrow's father looked like to produce two solidly-built, black-haired, black-eyed children when their mother had pale hair and a fragile, spindly build. "Wonder if she'll still be that quiet when the New Order takes power," Amycus wondered in an idle whisper as they left room.


	6. The Beginnings of a Death Eater

**The Beginnings of a Death Eater**

**21 July 1971**

"Ah, you're here," Amycus cheerfully greeted Lucius as he stepped out of the fireplace for one of the many times in the past few weeks.

The pleasant expression on the blond-haired boy's face immediately transformed into one of concern as Amycus came into focus. "Merlin, Amycus, how did you get that cut? It looks like you fell face first on a knife." Lucius gently ran his finger down the other boy's cheek next to the few inch long scab.

"Long story," he mumbled, "I'll tell you later."

"If you know a spell I can heal it."

"I forgot, you can legally do magic outside of school now," Amycus mused, and soon a scheming grin appeared across his face, contorting his cut and giving him an almost maniacal look. "I don't know any healing spells, but I have an idea for some other fun we can have."

Lucius raised a single eyebrow. "Do tell?"

And now the maniacal appearance of Amycus's face was no longer limited to the twisted gash but instead present in his grin itself and the sparkling of his eyes as he whispered, "Muggle baiting."

Lucius raised his other eyebrow in response. It occurred to him that his father would probably consider such activities as being beneath him, but it wasn't as if Amycus could go on his own; he was still too young to legally use magic. "Sounds like it could be enjoyable," Lucius took out his wand and idly began twirling it between his fingers. A few moments later they were hidden by two well-cast disillusionment charms in the nearest Muggle city (neither of them knew nor cared what it was called). "You see four-eyes over there?" Lucius jerked his head in the direction of a middle-aged man sitting at a café table before realizing Amycus couldn't see him. "Watch this."

The man's wire-framed glasses started levitating above his head. At first the man reflexively took his stubby index finger and pushed it up the bridge of his nose, as though the glasses had simply slipped down his nose, and that was why his view had suddenly become blurry. His index finger reached between his eyes without contacting the metal of his glasses, though, and he soon started searching the table, his lap and the floor for his glasses, while Amycus and Lucius silently shook with laughter.

"What an idiot, they're floating right above his head."

The man seemed to have finally realized this for, after another questioning glance around, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around the glasses. Lucius wasn't about to give up such a source of amusement so quickly, though, and after lulling the Muggle into a false sense of security, he abruptly levitated the Muggle himself. The Muggle let out a shocked cry as he started floating one…two…three meters in the air. "S-stop it! This isn't funny!" he yelped.

"Au contraire," Lucius whispered to Amycus, wishing that the disillusionment charm didn't keep him from seeing the other boy's facial expression, the grin he was sure was splayed across Amycus's face.

Instead he heard Amycus's voice come rather coolly, "This seems a bit child-like. Can't you do something a bit more…giving the Muggle his just deserts? They're animals, aren't they? They produce half-bloods and Mudbloods."

His only hesitation a raised eyebrow that Amycus couldn't see, Lucius raised the Muggle another meter in the air with a flick of his wand before ceasing the spell entirely. With a resounding crash, the man fell on top of the small café table, flipping it over, spilling a half-empty cup of coffee and knocking over the nearby chair. The few Muggles that had noticed the man floating in the air immediately surrounded his fallen figure.

Lucius's attention shifted away from the scene, though, for he could now hear Amycus's ringing laughter, could imagine the grin stretching across his face, mischievous and surprised and pleased.

After apparating to a few more Muggle locales, and wrecking a bit more well-placed havoc, they finally returned to the Carrows' house, recounting the different spectacles to each other as though one of them could have somehow missed what was happening.

"What about the one we left in a body-bind? I'm surprised nobody stepped on him in such a crowd.

"The one who was left clinging to a third-story window was better, I think."

"The look on the woman's face whose hair we transfigured into a badger was priceless."

"That was a good one," Amycus laughed before sighing, "I can hardly wait until I'm allowed to perform magic outside of school. I can't imagine the feeling of power," he grinned, eager and enthusiastic and naïve. In a conspiratorial tone he quietly added, "I want to learn the Unforgivables. Can you imagine? The ability to control others, perfectly. The ability to cause pain, unending, excruciating pain, essentially the power to extract revenge! And then the last one. Not the Imperius or the Cruciatus curse, but the killing curse. Power over death itself. You'd be like a god, can you imagine? I don't know when I'd ever use it, but just knowing that you'd to be able to."

Lucius took in a sharp breath. Power over others, both literally with the Imperius curse and figuratively with the Cruciatus curse. Power over death. He had given very little thought to the Unforgivables before now. His family had made it clear that they considered it not only acceptable but important that he be versed in the Dark Arts, but the Unforgivables had always implicitly been forbidden. Why should they be, though? After all, Amycus seemed to be treating them just like any other spell.

"You know, I can think of an appropriate time to use the Unforigvables. All three of them," Lucius blurt out, eager for Amycus's approval. "In service of the New Order. When it rises. Or when it starts to rise."

Amycus looked surprised and then pleased. "I hadn't even thought of that. You're right" and then he flashed Lucius one of his contagious grins; Lucius silently thought that whoever said that something like true happiness, or true love, or anything of that sort, did not exist had clearly never seen him after being on the receiving end of one of Amycus's grins.

* * *

**7 August 1971**

With a sigh Lucius skimmed the letter he had just received from Narcissa, his eyes sticking on the last sentence. "I know this is short notice, but I am scheduled to visit Diagon Alley today, and if it would not be too difficult, I would greatly enjoy seeing you there. I am sure my parents would also be very pleased to see you again." He didn't particularly want to see Narcissa; her constant affection, the way she ended her letters with 'love' as though painfully blind that he felt no reciprocal emotion, the fact that he was sure her parents would see him and imagine what the wedding between him and their daughter would look like—all of these were reasons for his ultimate decision to pretend that he had not received her morning letter and, therefore, would not be seeing them at Diagon Alley.

Feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders at his decision, he cheerfully grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder and threw it in the fire; it had become a near daily-routine for Lucius to floo to the Carrow's house to see Amycus and he saw no reason why today should be any exception. Similar to many other days, though, when he first arrived it was Alecto who was sitting directly in front of the fireplace.

"Er—hello, Alecto," Lucius awkwardly greeted her after crashing into the girl while stepping out of the fireplace.

"Hello," she uttered the word with as much dignity as she could manage, considering she had just been elbowed in the face by the person she was greeting.

"My apologies. Perhaps it would be wiser if you didn't stand quite so close to the fireplace," Lucius used his much practiced polite-yet-scathing tone.

"I was waitin' for you." She gave him a look that suggested that he had hurt her feelings so much that he might as well have just stepped on a puppy. With a slightly more cheerful facial expression she continued, "Y'know, I was thinkin' recently that there's only reason you'd be comin' by here so often."

"Yes, to see your brother," Lucius disinterestedly drawled. "Now where is he?"

"No, I was thinkin', you wouldn't be stoppin' by so much unless you were interested in someone who lived here." Here she delicately placed her hand on his upper arm and blinked in what he imagined was supposed to be a seductive sort of way.

Resisting the urge to burst into laughter, and succeeding in containing all but a single chuckle, Lucius continued his nonchalant drawl, "Sorry to disappoint you but the only person I'm interested in is y—" He abruptly cut himself off before shakily continuing, "The only person I'm interested in is Narcissa. Now, if you'll excuse me." He roughly removed Alecto's hand from his arm before exiting the room, too occupied to notice the insulted look on her face. That had been far too close; what had happened to all of his social training and control? He had almost blurt out "I'm interested in your brother"! Admittedly, it was likely she would have taken it as a poor attempt at a joke, but Lucius found it uncomfortably close to being a slip of the tongue.

With a quick rap of his knuckles at Amycus's bedroom door, he strolled in to see the boy sitting at his desk, a blank piece of parchment in front of him.

"Excellent, a distraction!" Amycus gave him a playful, child-like grin.

"Attempting to finish your summer homework, I take it? Smashing progress you've made, there," Lucius teasingly held up the almost blank piece of parchment.

"I've put my name, my year, and the professor's name. I'd say that's pretty good progress, wouldn't you? Think I deserve a break?"

Lucius grinned back. "Most certainly. By the way—er—I was doing a bit of research and I found a spell that would remove the scar on your cheek from the cut you got a few weeks ago."

Amycus's eyebrows arched slightly before he thoughtfully traced the line of the healed cut with a single finger. "That might be nice," he replied thoughtfully. "It'd make things a bit simpler once I got back to Hogwarts; otherwise people'll ask where it came from."

"Where did it come from?" Lucius asked in the most nonchalant tone he could, attempting to hide his desperate curiosity.

"Oh, uh," the other boy looked away and for a second Lucius thought he was going to decline to answer again. "It's silly, really. I made the mistake of mentioning the New Order to my stepfather."

The blond-haired Slytherin frowned slightly and slowly blinked before asking, "Your stepfather doesn't like the idea of the New Order?"

"Heh, well, not exactly." He embarrassedly looked away before speaking again, "My stepfather's a half-blood. Needless to say he didn't really like me talking about how only purebloods were worthy. So he took his wand and—yeah. Only the one cut though. He's mellowing out with age," he added the last sentence under his breath.

Lucius's mouth made the shape of an "O" and, unsure what he could say, decided against saying anything except the incantation to remove the scar.

"Thanks," Amycus beamed, his previous comment seemingly forgotten. "So, I'm assuming you don't want to work on homework together?" He gave a teasing, sarcastic, mischievous grin while rolling up the nearly blank parchment and throwing the books underneath his desk.

"No, I think not. And no going to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies, either; I'm avoiding Narcissa."

"You know, I honestly don't understand why you're still with her," he adopted a serious, annoyed tone.

"She's a nice person. We've become friends," the other Slytherin stated almost stubbornly, defensively.

"You don't keep dating someone because you're friends. You date someone because you're _more_ than friends." After a moment of hesitation and obvious internal debate he added in a rather offended tone, "What, I'm not good enough for you?"

With a point of his wand behind him, Lucius closed the door before bringing his face very close to Amycus's and gently stroking the others' cheek. "I'm dating Narcissa for my parents' sake. Never doubt that you're the one I love." Amycus unblinkingly regarded him, as though unconvinced, and Lucius placed a light kiss on his temple, his eyebrow, his cheekbone, the hollow of his cheek, until Amycus's stoic face melted into a grin, and now Amycus's soft lips were against his.

Perhaps if they had been slightly less distracted they would have heard the single knock on the door, or the creak of the door opening, or the words "Amycus, Mum was wonderin'—" As it was, it took Alecto Carrow's shriek of "WHAT THE HELL!" for the two boys to leap apart.


	7. School and Career

A/N: Directly continued from the end of last chapter. Also, just to mention that I don't approve of the use of derogatory slang, but it's used a bit in this chapter to capture the attitude of the person speaking; sorry.

**School and Career**

Lucius couldn't overcome the feeling that his life was flashing before his eyes and watched in near awe as Amycus, who somehow did not have his feeling of complete paralysis, deftly leapt up, roughly pulled his sister into the room and slammed the door shut behind her.

"DON'T PULL ME INTO YOUR SICK ORGIES!"

"Lower your voice, Alecto!" her brother hissed.

"I WILL DO NO SUCH THING—" In the most time-honored way of abruptly shutting someone up (short of _silencio_, which Lucius was still too paralyzed to even think of casting), Amycus clamped his hand over his sister's mouth.

"Now will you hush up?"

"Fine," she spat once he had removed his hand. "Putting your hand over my mouth? Honestly, what are we, five?"

"So, Alecto, I imagine you had some reason for so rudely bargin' into my room?" Amycus acidly, threateningly asked.

"Oh no, don't you go tryin' to blame this on me." Alecto wagged her index finger as though scolding a dog or a small child.

"Really? 'Cause I'd have to wonder why you were snoopin' around my room otherwise."

"I was not snoopin'! I _knocked_ for your information an' the only reason I'm even here is 'cause Mum wanted to know if you knew where the spatula was."

For a moment thought Lucius thought he had gone utterly mad. His life as he knew it was about to end—he would probably be disowned, exiled to live with the Muggles for all he knew—and here Alecto was talking about her mother's spatulas.

Amycus seemed to have at least a somewhat similar reaction for he blinked in a rather confused manner before uttering a single word: "What?"

"Bugger me why you would know where her spatula is, but she seems to have lost it an' she told me to ask you if you had any idea."

"Tell Mum I don't know where she put the spatula. That all? Okay, thanks, bye."

He gave his sister a small push towards the door but she immediately whirled around and snapped, "Don't try an' weasel out of this. What the hell were you doin'? I'll—I'll tell our stepfather!" That seemed to have earned Amycus's attention, as judged by the look of fear that suddenly appeared on his face. "That's right," she crooned victoriously. "Why, I'll bet you wouldn't be able to walk for a week if he caught wind that you were a faggot."

"Alecto, that's—that's really not necessary. It's not what it looked like, I swear, we're just friends," he breathed, his eyes nervously darting in their sockets in a manner reminiscent of a caged animal.

"Really? 'Cause it looked like you were trying to eat each others' mouths, an' maybe it's just me, but my friends and I don't consider snoggin' each other to be an acceptable past time."

"That's not what it was," Amycus meekly looked away, clearly not believing himself but at a loss as to what other lines of defense he could use.

A timid rapping at the door silenced all three of them and all three twisted their heads to see Mrs. Carrow's head peek through the doorway. "Amycus, dear, have you seen my spatula?"

"Uh, no, Mum. I haven't. Sorry."

"Oh, alright." The room was completely silent before she spoke again, what felt like decades later. "Oh, there you are, Alecto. I was wonderin' where you'd disappeared to. Oh, you're all here. How nice. What're you doin'?"

If the previous silence had been decades, then this one stretched for eons before finally being interrupted by Alecto Carrow, "N-nothing."

"Oh, alright." A second later their mother had left, leaving the three teenagers to regard each other.

Alecto was the first to regain her senses. "Alright, maybe I'm wrong about you," she snapped, nodding towards her brother, "But _you_." She pointed an incriminating finger at Lucius. "I shoulda known you were a faggot. Why else would you be so disinterested in me? I'm warnin' you, though: _stop corruptin' my brother_," she hissed the final sentence.

Still too paralyzed with the possibility of the end of his life as he knew it, Lucius did little else than utter a resounding "Uh." It occurred to him that even if he was the average sort of teenage boy, he still probably wouldn't be interested in Alecto, but he thought it better to not say this aloud.

"So, Lucius," Alecto took on a rather smug, bossy tone, "I think it'd be best if you left."

"Is that really necessary?" Amycus blurt out, but his sister continued as though she had not heard anything except perhaps a faintly annoying buzzing sound.

"An' I think you shouldn't come back here again. Ever," she resolutely continued, her eyes victoriously glinting as she regarded Lucius.

"Now, really, Alecto! Don't be so unreasonable," her brother cut in.

"Amycus, I'm tryin' to protect you from the likes of a faggot like him. An'—an' if he does come back, I'm tellin' our stepfather! It'd be for your own good."

Realizing that it did not seem to occur to Alecto that she could easily ruin Lucius's life by mentioning this incident to his father gave Lucius the strength to finally stand up and say, with as much Malfoy dignity as he could muster, "Very well then. I can see that my presence is not desired and I shall leave immediately.

Amycus gave Lucius a pleading, apologetic gaze but said nothing else as he left the room and went directly towards the fireplace.

* * *

**1 September 1971**

The slight crinkling sound of the textbook page seemed to resonate through every last stone in the Common Room. Lucius paused, mid-turn, his ears alert for any sound besides the echo of his reading. With a disappointed sigh, he finished turning the page and vacantly skimmed the history of the Draught of Living Death—quite a misnomer, considering it didn't actually kill the person but only caused them to appear dead.

Was that—was that a sound? Lucius immediately abandoned his attempt to read so much as another word and breathlessly focused all of his attention on listening for even the slightest sound. Yes, that was a sound, that was a most certainly sound. Could it be footsteps? He strained his ears further but was unable to tell where fact ended and fantasy began in his interpretation of the sound.

The next thing he heard, though, was indisputably what it was: a greeting.

"Evenin', Lucius."

And then, as though nothing had ever happened, as though they had continued seeing each other through the end of summer, as though they had spent the entire summer owling each other instead of abruptly stopping all communication partway through August, there stood Amycus, a diagonal slant of a grin spread across his perfect face.

"Ever the diligent worker, I see," he grinned knowingly before taking a seat next to Lucius and resting his chin on the other boy's shoulder. "'The Draught of Living Death was originally invented in the 1500's in Verona, Italy.' Sounds fascinating," Amycus sarcastically articulated.

"I'm so happy to see you!" Lucius blurt out. "I wasn't even sure what was happening with us." As soon as he finished speaking he felt like giving himself a solid kick. Malfoys were supposed to be the epitome of culture and self-control and haughtiness and probably just about any other trait he was not displaying at the moment. He had undoubtedly just ruined what could have been a perfect moment, a perfect reunion.

Instead Amycus gave him a grin, one of which he had never seen the likes of before. It wouldn't have surprised if Lucius if the room suddenly exploded with light, or if choirs of angles begun singing from nowhere, for it seemed that nothing less would be appropriate for the wide smile spread across Amycus's face, the joyful sparkling in his eyes. It was the type of smile directed at one person and meant solely for that one person.

Lucius Malfoy felt on top of the world.

"I'm happy to see you, too," Amycus finally spoke, as though such a message had not been abundantly clear in his shining smile. "And what do you mean, what's happening with us? You mean after the incident with Alecto?"

Lucius was surprised to hear him mention the 'incident' in such a light, unworried tone. "Yes, that," he skeptically replied.

"I wouldn't worry about that. I talked with her later and even though she didn't say as much, I gathered she was a bit insulted that you rejected her school-girl crush on you. Her offense'll probably wear off, though."

"Your sister's not the type to hold grudges, then, I take it?" Lucius did not even realize that he had tensed until he felt himself relax at his own sentence.

"Er—actually, she's just the type. But, still, I wouldn't worry about it," he made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I managed to convince her that from now on you and I are just friends." He accompanied the last sentence with a mischievous, conniving, secretive smile and a brush of his fingertips against Lucius's skin.

Lucius smirked before taking Amycus's hand in his own. "Why, quite the liar, aren't you?"

* * *

**20 December 1971**

"Son, I thought that I ought to inform you that I am planning to invite Narcissa Black and her family for Christmas dinner."

"That sounds excellent, Father. I look forward to seeing them," Lucius formally replied over the House-elf prepared breakfast. After having spent every breakfast this school year sitting next to Amycus, who would alternately do such things as try hash browns with cream cheese or color change the milk so that it was green, having breakfast with his family felt forced, unnatural.

"I am quite interested in discussing the legality of Wizards investing in Muggle-owned businesses with Mr. Black. I imagine that he is familiar with both the laws and the most efficient way in which we could promote change," Lucius's father continued in his clipped, business-like tone.

"Abraxas, have you seen the front page of the newspaper?" Lucius's mother raised her eyes from the paper to regard her husband's countenance. "It seems that there have been more protests. It would appear that there are some people who do not like the way society is structured."

"The New Order would never do something as ineffective as peaceful protests," Lucius's father scoffed. "The Dark Lord knows the most effective way to improve the structure of society. What are these protests of which you speak? More remnants of the Muggles' social movements? Racial equality? Women's rights?"

"There are some people protesting for the right to freely express one's sexual orientation."

"Oh, those sorts of beasts? I tell you, they will never be accepted in the upper tiers of society, no matter how many of these silly protests there are."

Lucius meekly took a sip of orange juice and thought that somehow he was neither surprised at his father's opinion, nor did he doubt that his father spoke the truth.

* * *

**18 May 1972**

"Lucius, mate, I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."

Lucius raised his eyebrows in slight surprise before offering a return greeting. "Hello, Rabastan. I suppose you're here for an appointment with Professor Slughorn, too?"

"Matter of fact I am. He seems to be running late, eh? Seems a bit silly that we have to discuss our future career plans with him, anyways. So how've you been? We haven't talked much of late. What with Carrow taking just about every waking second of your time," Rabastan grumbled the last sentence in a slightly quieter tone.

Lucius hadn't originally intended it to happen, but somehow the amount of time he spent with Amycus had snowballed until every meal, every study period, every weekend, was spent with him and only him. Seeing Amycus, knowing that he could be himself without any worry of proper social conventions was simply such an addictive, intoxicating way to spend time that the amount of time he reserved for Narcissa and his friend Rabastan had slowly dwindled into nearly nonexistent.

"I've been fine," Lucius finally responded in a rather neutral tone of voice. "NEWTS have been keeping me quite occupied."

They were saved from having to make further conversation, though, for the door to Slughorn's office swung open just then. "Ah, Lucius, m'boy, come in. So, last I remember, you were interested in potentially working at the ministry?"

"Yes, sir." His father had discussed this with him before (or perhaps 'discussed this at him' would have been more accurate). One simply could not enter the real world assuming that one would live off of the Malfoy wealth and name. No, Lucius would have to enter the working world doing just that—working. After attaining a respectable position in the world, he could then use his influence to shape the Wizarding World and take a more leisurely approach to work—working part time as, say, a Hogwarts governor. Lucius's eventual success was expected by his family, and he was sure he would be able to meet such expectations.

"I see your grades are quite acceptable, and I'm sure you will garner a good number of NEWTs. Now, as I'm sure you're aware," Professor Slughorn lowered his voice slightly to match his almost conspiratorial tone, "There's a good deal more to succeeding in the Ministry than grades. Good grades will earn you an interview for a position, but that's about it."

"I know, sir. Who you know is very important."

"Ah, you already know, good, excellent, excellent," Slughorn clapped his hands together in a relieved way, as though it was even conceivable that a Malfoy could be unaware of how important one's connections were. "Now, I don't mean to pry, but I've heard that you and Narcissa Black have been together for quite a long time, yes?" Without waiting for Lucius to reply he energetically continued, "The Blacks have a wide sphere of influence, perhaps the most connections of any Wizarding family in Britain. And, with your relationship with Narcissa, I imagine it would be easy to keep a positive relationship with the Blacks. Yes, that could be quite, quite, beneficial for your career."

Lucius frowned and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He could easily picture Narcissa, could easily imagine dining with her and Mr. and Mrs. Black in their extravagantly decorated manor while discussing some sort of official ministry business. And even if Narcissa had been slightly less affectionate towards him as of the past few months, it was clear she was still quite fond of him. His mind wandered to what his starting position in the Ministry might be. Not your normal starting position, he was sure of that much. And with the Blacks' support, who knew not only how high he might start, but how quickly he might climb. Why, he idly fantasized, he might be able to become the most powerful man in Britain—no, the world.

A slight, restrained smile formed on his face. Imagine that. Being on top of the world.


	8. The Influential Blacks

**The Influential Blacks**

**21 May 1972**

Lucius quietly refolded his father's already heavily creased letter for the umpteenth time. Imagining that it would be too rude to directly ask his father just _how_ influential the Black family was, he had written to him using every ounce of subtlety and social tact he possessed. His inquiry had been successful in the sense that he now held additional pieces of knowledge in his right hand.

Whether his new-found information should have delighted or terrified him, he wasn't quite sure. The Blacks were even more influential than he had accredited them to be, and whether as warning or simply as an anecdote, Lucius's father had mentioned the complete ruin that people tended to meet when they angered or opposed the Blacks.

The more he reflected, the more uncertain he felt about his future career and about Narcissa. The more he mused, the more he realized that how hollow his time spent with Narcissa seemed. Could he really envision spending the rest of his life with her? Could he even grasp what it would mean to marry her?

But whether his father had intended his letter to be as such or not, it contained a definite warning to not cross the Blacks, and he could not imagine a more sure way to do that than to break off his relationship with their youngest daughter.

Absorbed in his thoughts, the gradual emptying of the Common Room, the sound of the ticking Grandfather clock, the earthy smell of the salt and stone all faded until there was simply him, his thoughts, the crinkling sound of the letter as he turned it over in his hands, the rough feeling of its paper and the black ink smudges that danced across its page, ignorant of the message they conveyed.

A warm hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. "Quite distracted, I see," Amycus grinned down at him, cheerfulness covering a residual fatigue and hesitating air. "I don't think you've so much as blinked since I was last here a few hours ago."

"I've just been absorbed in my thoughts. I don't even know when it became this late at night."

"Big, important thoughts, I'm guessing?" A teasing, playful grin with a hint of honest incomprehension.

"Thoughts about the future and my future career, so I suppose so," Lucius responded in a rather unresponsive way, still trying to tear his attention away from his thoughts and to the boy sitting next to him.

"Well don't stress about it. We—" A slight hesitation, as though he was listening to the sound the foreign-sounding word made when stumbling off of his tongue, "We can handle anything the future throws at us." The stone room was silent except for their quiet, unsynchronized breathing and the continual crinkling of the letter as Lucius turned it over in his hands, felt the sharp edges of the parchment with the pads of his fingers, the dog-eared corners against the flesh of his palm.

"I've been thinking about the future, too," Amycus's quiet voice covered the sound of Lucius's letter. "Have you been reading the Daily Prophet?"

"Yes, the New Order seems to be continuing its ascension to power."

"Er—that wasn't exactly what I was thinking of. Have you seen the articles about the protests? Of—of people like us?"

Lucius stopped crinkling the letter in his hands and gazed at him out of the corner of his eye. "What do you mean?"

"There was a particularly long article about them a while ago. Over winter break. Civil rights, social justice, those sorts of movements. There was a march for gay equality."

"Ah, yes, I forgot the articles themselves but I remember my father's derisive comments about them. What do you mean the protests were 'of people like us'?" Lucius gave the other Slytherin a cautious, hesitating, yet vaguely threatening look, as though he did not actually want to hear what Amycus had meant.

Oblivious to the expression on Lucius's face, Amycus replied in an explanatory tone reserved for the extremely obvious, "They were gays, protesting for gay rights. Have you never heard the word 'gay' before?"

"I know what 'gay' means," he snapped. "I mean, I'm not gay, so don't call me one."

An incredulous, disbelieving, shocked, expression appeared on Amycus's face before it was quickly tainted by annoyance. "Fine, you can use whatever word you want to classify yourself, but don't try and pretend that you're not gay."

Lucius whirled towards Amycus, his carefully-regulated emotions exploding into the rage-filled lines on his face. "Well if I want to succeed in the world, I can't be gay, and therefore I'm not! Do you know what society thinks of people like us? Especially all of the old families—the conservative, powerful ones which can make or break you. I've heard my father talk—they think gays are animals, abominations to humanity."

For a minute Amycus looked shocked, blown into utter speechlessness by the words. Finally, his words weakly crawled into the air—"Lucius, times are changing. The protests—we won't be thought of like that for much longer. We're just humans. We have hearts. We have a right to love." Lucius sighed, exhaling the enraged tension from his face and wordlessly smoothing out the wrinkles in his father's letter. "I've been wanting to talk about this, actually," Amycus courageously continued. "I think we should make our relationship public."

In a distant corner of his mind Lucius imagined that Amycus was probably significantly disappointed by the utterly horrified expression that appeared on his face, an expression which expressed the same thought as his words a second later: "Are you crazy?!"

"No, I'm not!" Amycus burst out at a volume almost rivaling Lucius's. "I'm sick of the feeling of shame that comes with us having to hide our relationship. Merlin, I love you, why should I have to hide that? There's nothing more pure or beautiful than love, and yet we treat it as though it's some repulsive abnormality! I feel like I can't even smile at you too much during the day, much less hold your hand or look into your eyes, and it makes me feel so hopeless, like I'm going to explode."

Amycus paused for a gulp of air before passionately continuing at his steam-engine pace, "And I know that people won't necessarily regard our relationship favorably at first, but they'll get over it and frankly—it doesn't matter. We're not going to be at Hogwarts much longer so it doesn't matter what the masses of students think of us, and now that I'll be moving out soon, I don't care if my mother and stepfather disown me, because nothing is as important to me as you."

Lucius gaped at the dark-haired boy, whose eyes were sparkling with a passionate intensity, who was almost out of breath from having said so much so quickly. After attempting to remember how his vocal chords worked Lucius broke the screaming silence that had followed Amycus's words with a whisper. "But—Amycus—that'd be career suicide."

Now it was Amycus's turn to gape and, after a stunned silence, whisper "There are more important things than careers."

Another screaming silence absorbed by the sturdy stones of the Common Room. "Amycus, I've been thinking, too." Lucius swallowed nervously, tried to ignore the squirming, sickly mass of nerves that seemed to have accumulated in his stomach. His voice cracked on the next words. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

The expression on Amycus's face was identical to as if he had been run through with a sword. And then, as though he was trying to grasp the threads of a rapidly unraveling safety rope, he hurriedly spoke in an almost panicked manner, "Merlin, Lucius, we don't have to bring our relationship out in the open. That wasn't an ultimatum, it was a suggestion. I'm fine if we continue to keep it hidden, really."

"I know. I just—I've been thinking. Not just now, earlier, too. And I think we should stop seeing each other. Completely." Lucius stared intently at his hands and the letter he was tightly squeezing between them, unable to bring himself to look at Amycus's dark eyes.

Without another word, Amycus stood up and shuffled back towards the dormitories as if he was a ghost. "Time, I'll give him time. He can't mean it." His tiny whisper was quickly devoured by the cold, gray, salty stones.

Lucius crumpled the letter in his hands and angrily threw it in the fire, watching as it became nothing but embers, smoke and ashes.

* * *

**25 May 1972**

Rabastan unquestioningly accepted that Lucius had suddenly stopped spending any time with Amycus and had instead returned to his old friend. Narcissa, likewise, found it outside of socially acceptable behavior to ask why Lucius no longer talked with Amycus in the hallways and had suddenly started eating every meal with her. The most she did was say, one day at lunch, "I'm so glad that you've had so much time to spend with me the past few days."

"Well, I think I finally have my priorities right," Lucius gave a hollow, pre-planned grin.

In a slightly quieter, conspiratorial sort of tone, Narcissa told him, "Some of my girlfriends said 'Lucius is spending so little time with you. He must be having an affair.' But I knew they were just jealous," she finished her sentence with an adoring gaze into her boyfriend's eyes.

Even if he was sure that none of Narcissa's friends knew of his relationship with Amycus, Lucius still felt himself tense up. Was it an even an affair, what he had had with Amycus? The word felt awkwardly shaped in his mouth, as though it didn't belong there. Affairs were what old, lecherous married men did, driven entirely by lust and hormones, destructively unaware of the hurt they could spread to all of the involved parties. What he had had with Amycus felt natural, simple, requiring no thought because it just felt _right._

"I would never cheat on you, Narcissa," Lucius comforted her in her a well-rehearsed loving tone and, for good measure, gave her a peck on the cheek. "I'm sorry if I haven't been spending very much time with you. I assure you that I will remedy that." Would now be a good time to ask her? He had already written to both of their fathers and obtained permission for his plan. (Perhaps "plan" was not the best word, but considering how much thought he had given to its execution, it seemed an appropriate word choice, if nothing else.) When he thought logically, he knew it was the best course of action, because it would help his future career immensely. The difficult part was silencing the part of himself that still looked for Amycus in the hallways, the part of him that still stayed up late hoping Amycus would somehow magically appear, the part of him that could still taste Amycus's lips and the part of him that could still hear Amycus avowing the importance of love.

He shook his head, as though to clear his head of such thoughts. No, if anything, now would be the best time to enact the plan so as to keep himself from thinking of Amycus.

"Narcissa, I wanted to ask you something." There, it was out. No going back now. Time for the next step of his plan. He dove into his book bag and pulled out the small black box. When he got down on one knee Narcissa's questioning look turned into one of shock and excitement, the corners of her lips uncontrollably forming a smile. The surrounding Slytherins turned their attention to the unraveling events, and this effect rippled down the table, silencing the conversations in its wake. "Narcissa Black, will you marry me?"

_Thunk. _Lucius's eyes flickered unwillingly towards the sound and were greeted by the sight of Amycus's shocked eyes meeting his. The dark haired boy's cup of pumpkin juice was lying on its side, seemingly forgotten as its orange liquid rolled off of the table and onto his robes in a steady drip. His shocked face seemed a bit paler, sicklier than usual and there were dark circles underneath his eyes. Was he getting sick? Had he not been sleeping?

"Oh, Lucius, I will, I will marry you!" Lucius whirled his head back to the blonde-haired girl, just in time to accept her tight embrace. The rest of the Slytherin table, who had been eavesdropping on such an interesting event, exploded into applause as he slipped the engagement ring on her finger. When Lucius chanced a glance back in Amycus's direction, his spot at the table was empty, save for a knocked over cup of pumpkin juice.


	9. Marriage and Death Eaters

**Marriage and Death Eaters**

**21 June 1973**

"My only son getting married. I am so proud of you, Lucius. You and Narcissa are the perfect match."

"Thank you, Mother. Would you mind checking on how the wedding setting up is coming?"

"Of course, son." She left Lucius alone in the room, before reappearing a few seconds later. "A man is here to see you. Should I direct him to you?"

"Yes, that would be fine." Lucius stared disinterestedly at the sleeves of his formal black robe, while waiting for the sound of the wooden door creaking open again.

Heavy footsteps entered the room and slowly, in a disinterested, haughty, Malfoy sort of way, he turned around to see who it was. Lucius's increasing skill in acting in a dignified, restrained, haughty, emotionless manner at all times was not enough to keep his jaw from dropping in shock. With Lucius struck by speechlessness, it was up to the other party to say something, which he did so shortly.

"Mornin', Lucius."

"You weren't invited, Amycus," Lucius finally croaked out a response, desperately wishing that he could see one of Amycus's grins, the grins that he missed so much, while simultaneously wishing that he was not wishing for such a thing.

He spoke with an aggravated edge to his voice, "I know. I promise I won't sit in on the ceremony." His words became tinged with a hint of disbelief and sadness. "I can't believe you're getting married. How could you do this, Lucius?"

"It's been wonderful for my career. The Blacks love me. You wouldn't believe how many times I've been promoted in the past year, alone," Lucius spoke while eyeing and rearranging the cuffs of his sleeves, feeling as though he would rather look a basilisk in the eyes than Amycus.

"I hadn't heard anything about the marriage for so many months that I thought maybe you had canceled it. Finally come to your senses." There was a hint of lost hope to his words.

"We wanted to wait until Narcissa had graduated Hogwarts. Our parents were for a long engagement anyway," he stated emotionlessly, as though reading numbers from a sheet of paper.

"You'll never love her. You'll never love her the way you love me."

Lucius flinched at the stated fact. "There are things more important than love," he whispered to himself as much as to Amycus.

"You'll never be happy," _as long as you're_ _with her_, his tone added, treating it as much as a fact as a threat.

"There's more to happiness than love," Lucius blurt out, almost surprised at his own confidence.

He gave Lucius a look as though the other boy was committing blasphemy. "How can you say that? Love—true love—is the epitome of happiness."

"Amycus, if I had stayed with you I would have had to sacrifice any chance of success, of moving up in society. I just couldn't do that. You don't understand, do you? Without a chance at power I would feel useless and pointless and static, as though my life is meaningless, as though I'm a waste of resources. I can't just amputate my ambition and throw it in the Thames. It's a part of who I am, and if I ignore that, I would be miserable."

Amycus adopted the other Slytherin's pleading tone for his response. "It's not a part of who you are. It's not a limb or an organ, or something like that. It's like a disease, or a rabid animal that has you in its grip and won't release you. It's blinded you, and if you don't get it under control it'll eat you alive—it'll destroy you."

Lucius sadly shook his head. If the muse he had chosen was ambition, than Amycus's was love. "I think you should leave," he said quietly. He had made his choice, and being reminded of other potential choices was too painful.

"Someday, someday you'll see what I mean," Amycus whispered breathlessly, disbelievingly at Lucius's behavior. "And—when you realize you can't be happy without love, I'll still be there, waiting for you."

When Lucius finally looked up from the cuffs of his coat sleeves the boy and a small portion of his heart was gone. What he would have given to see Amycus's grin just one last more time.

* * *

**30 October 1974**

The elegant mahogany table was clothed with several layers of overlapping lace tablecloths, silver candlesticks that gleamed uncertainly in their own light, and the remains of platters of delicately garnished food.

"So, have you decided yet?" Rabastan's forced leisurely voice, with just a dash of visible impatience, came from his left.

Lucius took a stalling sip of wine and swept his eyes around the heavily decorated table in front of him, his eyes resting on the other members of the Lestrange family. He was being asked to go on an—ah—_excursion_ with them. With the best of the best. The words 'Muggle Baiting' sprang to his mind, but he hastily brushed them away. Muggle Baiting was what he and Amycus had done together. In comparison to the excursion he was being invited to go on, Muggle Baiting was downright child's play. After all, their Muggle Baiting had been for fun alone—no greater goal of helping the New Order rise, no greater master than themselves, and no deaths caused at their hands.

Now, though, he would be with going Bella, Rabastan, Rodolphus and the Lestrange patriarch, where Mr. Lestrange was one of the Dark Lord's most trusted Death Eaters. Now, they would not simply be taunting Muggles with displays of magic, they would be killing, destroying, even using Unforgivables.

Lucius took another stalling sip of wine. He was all for the New Order, really, he was, but a tiny part of him still hesitated at the thought of becoming a Death Eater. The blatant use of Unforgivables was nothing to scoff at, nothing to leap into without thoughtful consideration.

"Well, have you decided yet?"

Joining the Death Eaters could only boost his career, as he would make more connections with influential purebloods. For the sake of his career and satisfying his ambition, if nothing else, he should have eagerly agreed to go on the excursion and, by association, join the Death Eaters.

Another stalling sip and a pointed avoiding of Rabastan's impatient eyes. After his final rejection of Amycus more than a year ago, he had decided to pour all of his energy into his career and, he silently reprimanded himself for his hesitation. Because, really, if joining the Death Eaters would help his career, then that was all there was to it.

With a final sigh, the internal debate was over. "I'll come."

* * *

**7 August 1977**

Lucius cautiously surveyed the ratty clientele of the Hog's Head from his seated position in the corner. With the number of people with cloaked heads and hidden faces, any one of them could potentially be a threat. Anyone of them could be the person who had owled him with not-so-subtle threats of blackmail. What confused him was that this unknown person had specifically required that they meet in person with neither a hint as to the accusations they had against him, nor a mention of what they hoped to obtain from him.

The quick, furtive steps of someone heading directly for his corner caught his eye and he watched the rather squat woman approach. Despite wearing a heavy robe, as if she was attempting to hide her appearance, she seemed to be unaware as how to make her movements less noticeable, even accidentally tripping over a chair.

"Well, well, Alecto Carrow," Lucius drawled in a bored, haughty, fearless manner as the woman finally reached his table. "Fancy seeing you here. I suppose I ought to not find this particularly surprising, given our brief correspondence. How may I be of service?"

"Don't go actin' so suave. Your charm won't work on me. I'm the one in control, here, got it?" Unlike her brother, she seemed to have never managed to pick up a more educated manner of talking from her years at Hogwarts.

"If you would wish to believe that, fine, but do hurry. Unlike you, I have a variety of important manners to attend to and I would rather not spend my entire day sitting in such a disreputable establishment."

He smirked to see her flustered annoyance become even more visible. "Listen, I know your opinions on blood. I know you support the New Order. Don't go tryin' to pretend otherwise."

"Why, yes, I am against purebloods soiling their blood and culture by interacting with those who have less purity to their blood. If that's the information with which you were planning to blackmail me, I'm afraid you'll have to search for a piece of information that isn't quite so widely known."

"Quit being so impudent. I wasn't done talkin' yet. As I was sayin', I know you support the New Order and the Dark Lord's role in it." With a quick glance around, she lowered her voice and added, "An' I want you to help me join the Death Eaters."

Lucius raised an eyebrow and replied in an artificially disinterested manner, "What makes you say I could help you become a Death Eater?"

" 'Cause I know you have to be inducted by another Death Eater. And I'm sure you, Mr. Money and Influence, are probably real right buddies with the Dark Lord."

Lucius grinned. Not the most elegantly phrased compliment, but a piece of flattery he was still happy to be on the receiving end of. "Pray tell, why would I offer you a helping hand into the Death Eaters? Those who induct new members are personally responsible for their misbehavior, and I would rather not be on the receiving end of any of the Dark Lord's punishments."

Here Alecto Carrow gave a triumphant smirk, as different from her brother's grins as water from oil; Lucius felt a pang as he realized it had been four years since he had seen her brother. Alecto Carrow continued in a victorious voice, "I knew you were Death Eater. An', if you don't help me join, I'll tell everyone you're a faggot."

A nerve pulse added to his heartbeat as he regarded the woman in front of him. It was out. This was her attempt to force him into a corner with the knowledge that she could blackmail him, to be the cat in a cat and mouse game and theoretically get anything she wanted from him. Judging by the state of her robes, she'd no doubt be after his money next. Well, the mouse had some tricks in it yet. "I find it odd that you would wish to ruin your brother, as well. Has the sibling relationship been deteriorating?" he stated the question with mock sweetness.

"Leave Amycus outta this. He's not a faggot, _you_ are," she stated, her conviction as unwavering as that summer day five years ago. "Whatever I say about you isn't gonna hurt Amycus."

Lucius frowned slightly at his first attempt failing to disarm her, before preparing his second attempt. "And tell me, why on earth would anyone believe you? I'm a married man." Besides looking at the attractive men in his work place for a few milliseconds longer than socially acceptable, he had done nothing else potentially incriminating since his proposal to Narcissa.

"It's your wife I'd tell first," she smirked again, that awful, hideous smirk. "I'm sure she wonders why she's been married for four years and there's still no heir to the Malfoys. I'd be doing her a service, by lettin' her know why, don't you think? Maybe if I said something about seeing you with a woman she wouldn't believe me, but calling you a faggot would be an awfully specific rumor to spread, an' I was never one of the gossipin' Slytherin girls in the first place. An', even if she doesn't believe me at first, it'll plant a suspicion, and then she'll come round to the truth, and then everyone'll know the truth, an' do you really want to risk that?"

Lucius's frown deepened, feeling rather as though a trap was slowly encircling him, squeezing out his breath and immobilizing him. He could see his career going up in flames, his family disowning him. No, he did not want to risk being outed. His defensive methods against her blackmail were being proven ineffective, one by one. The final question: would she actually carry through with her action? It would be beyond socially awkward for her to suddenly visit Narcissa with the intent of a 'little chat.' Almost as a response at his attempts at self-comfort, he could hear his and Amycus's teenaged voices:

"_Your sister's not the type to hold grudges, then, I take it?"_

"_Er—actually, she's just the type."_

The ensnaring of the arms of the trap continued to incapacitate him, until he realized he was exactly the mouse trapped in the corner. The stakes were too high. He had lost the game of cat and mouse. "Fine, I'll help you join the Death Eaters."

The triumphant smirk returned. "Excellent. An' don't go worryin' your pretty little head about it, I'm not goin' to go askin' you for anything else. You don't have anything else I want."

...

A/N: Only one chapter left. Feedback is always appreciated!


	10. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

**3 June 1998**

"I fail to see why I am expected to change cells. I am awaiting the verdict of my trial, why does this require a different cell?" Lucius drawled at the prison guard with as much dignity as he could muster, given the situation.

"These are the holding cells before we transfer you to Azkaban." The guard let out a spiteful laugh at seeing the blood drain from Lucius's face.

"As far as my understanding goes, my verdict has not yet been issued. Therefore, there is no reason to put me in the holding cells for Azkaban. And why does the legal system insist on separating me from my son and wife? All of our verdicts are being issued at approximately the same time, therefore, why are they not with me?"

In response, the guard started laughing harder. "Hearing you talk like you still have authority is funny, Malfoy. Now get in the cell." With as dignified a scowl as he could mange, Lucius delicately entered one of the three waiting cells in the room.

The room itself was rather small. Smudged, windowless white walls, the three cells awkwardly spaced, as though the architect had been unaware of an idea called "space efficiency." In such an insecure local—a ministry building with only charms to prevent escape attempts, the small room was probably an attempt to prevent large groups from conspiring together and breaking out. The cell directly opposite of him was empty, and while he couldn't see into the cell directly adjacent, he assumed it was also empty until he heard a voice issue from it.

"Mornin', Lucius."

He closed his eyes and released a single heavy breath. The voice that he would recognize anywhere. The voice he still occasionally heard in his dreams. The voice that brought memories of his time at Hogwarts whirling to the front of his mind, memories of the Slytherin Common Room, of its smell of salt and stone late at night. "Hello, Amycus," he finally replied.

The room seemed to positively ring with the ensuing silence. What could they say? What was there to say? They were both potentially awaiting life sentences in Azkaban.

After what felt like hours, but was most likely only minutes, the other man spoke again. "How are your wife and son?"

"What do you care?" Lucius snapped down the man's attempt at small talk, too worried about Narcissa's and Draco's fates to contemplate them.

"They're clearly important to you," he replied in a rather indifferent tone, before making another attempt at small talk. "I met your son last year, you know. How do you like being a father?"

Lucius sighed, and felt the edges of his heart soften. "It's simultaneously the most wonderful and most wretched experience in existence. When Draco was born I got this feeling that he was perfect, just perfect, and I was responsible for keeping him that way, for helping him through every stage of life, for helping him be happy and successful. Whenever I succeeded, it was feeling of such joy, but the feeling of failure is awful, absolutely horrible." After another lengthy pause, he decided to venture a topic that, while a bit heavy for small talk, was still a topic of conversation. "Are you waiting for your verdict, too?"

A one word reply, "Yes," before he rushed onto another topic of conversation, clearly anxious to not have his potential imprisonment be the last topic hanging in the air. "You know, one of the reasons I joined the Death Eaters was because I was hoping to see you again. I wasn't really imagining while we were waiting for our trial verdicts."

"Technically we 're not seeing each other right now, due to the location of our respective cells," Lucius let out a hollow laugh to mimic Amycus's.

"Admittedly." Another pause. "You know, this generation is fine with gays. If we had been born just a generation later we could have had it all. You ever get the feeling there are some Greek deities up there, pulling strings, and laughing when things go horribly wrong for us little puppets?"

"You know, the Greeks said that there were two contributors to tragedies: personal flaws, and fate. Fate is a cruel mistress. So are muses. How is your muse of love treating you?"

Instead of replying, Amycus shot back another question. "Have you become disenchanted with your muse of ambition, then, yet?"

There was the sound of an opening door and then two sets of footsteps: one heavy and slow, the other light and fast, her heels click-clacking against the tile floor.

"Narcissa!" Lucius blurt out at seeing his closest friend's face appear in front of his cell door. "You're—you're out! Are you free?"

Narcissa was smiling, tears streaming down her face as she nodded. "The guard said I could tell you. Your verdict came in. They said your wife and child needed you. You're free to go."

Explosions of pure joy burst before his eyes, in his heart, throughout every limb of his body as though he was far too ecstatic for the emotion to limit itself solely to his brain. Shaking, he whispered, "Say it again."

"You're free. You're free, you're free, you're free!" she excitedly whispered, as though she, too, was unable to fully grasp the meaning of her words.

"And Draco?" Lucius asked breathlessly yet confidently, because surely Narcissa could not be so happy if their son had received a prison sentence.

"He's free, too. He's filling out some paperwork right now, but he'll be officially released from his cell in about half an hour." There were more tears of joy streaming down her face, and he felt as though he might join her any second. Everything was turning out perfectly. The best of all possible worlds.

"Alright, enough of a reunion," the guard gruffly interrupted and, almost as though he was disappointed at having to release a prisoner, he waved his wand and allowed Lucius to leave the cell.

Narcissa squeezed his hand, and feeling, as though he was liable to be imprisoned again any second, they started for the exit.

"Congratulations, Lucius," a sullen, conflicted voice came from the remaining occupied cell. The reminder of Amycus's imprisonment caused Lucius to involuntarily think: perhaps not the best of all possible worlds.

As they stepped away from the cell block, Narcissa told her husband in a secretive whisper, "I heard Carrow's verdict, too. They'll probably be telling him any minute, now. He received life in Azkaban."

Lucius froze where he stood. Life? He would never have the chance to see Amycus again. His dear friend from Hogwarts would spend the rest of his life miserable.

He risked a glance back and, for a second, Lucius thought he saw a youthful face with a slanted, devilishly handsome grin gazing at him from behind the bars of Amycus's cell. Then the smell of salt and stone faded, and a tired, defeated-looking man took his place, slowly disintegrating into a million miniscule grains of salt, as surely as grains of sand move through an hour glass.

"You're looking back at your cell; did you forget something, dear?" asked Narcissa, her voice tinged with concern at her husband's odd behavior.

He shook his head and mechanically continued stepping towards the exit. "No. I've forgotten nothing."

...

A/N: This is officially the end of The Boy of Salt and Stone (and probably of my updating in general until spring or summer break, because college has been piling on the work). A huge, huge thank you to tat1312 for all of their supportive comments throughout the story! Thank you also to anyone else who has been reading along; I'd love to hear from all of you, even if in just a two word review :)


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